


Apologies

by almosthopeless



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Dark? Sad? Not quite sure, I wish this had a real plot, I'm not sure what this is I just sat down and started writing, Jeremy doesn't know how to apologise, Jeremy is a mess, M/M, Michael is in therapy, Not sure I know how to spell Michael, Post-Squip, WE'RE GOING TO BROADWAY BITCH, oh yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almosthopeless/pseuds/almosthopeless
Summary: Jeremy had changed. He knew it, and Micheal knew it. He didn't know how to do things anymore. He didn't always… function.





	1. Chapter 1

Jeremy had changed. He knew it, and Micheal knew it. He didn't know how to do things anymore. He didn't always… function.

The first time Jeremy had been round to his house, he had knocked. It had taken Micheal almost by surprise; he had asked Jeremy around, and they never knocked when they knew he was coming. But he had attributed it to nerves. It was the first time they would be talking without nurses listening in. And he hadn't been around for months.

Jeremy had taken his shoes off at the door (this was usual), and followed Micheal when he had told him they could talk in the basement. But once Micheal had asked him to close the door behind him, Jeremy had just stood. Waiting. Watching.

“Are you going to - are you going to sit, buddy?” (It wasn't until Micheal said it that he realised that the word tasted wrong in his mouth. Bitter.)

And Jeremy had sat. On the beanbag, like he always did. And when Micheal had suggested that they should play a game, he agreed. He was still Jeremy. He still complained about Micheal choosing to play the Wii, and went straight to Peach when they started Mario Kart. Micheal adapted.

Brooke was the next to notice. Brooke, of all people, who had never even talked to the real Jeremy, had texted Micheal a month after the incident, asking why Jeremy didn't eat at lunch on Thursdays - the only day Micheal and Jeremy didn't share a lunch. Micheal had swore and asked Brooke to quietly suggest that they were serving chips today, and he should probably get some before they ran out, or something like that. She’d accepted this without much persuasion.

Rich was different. Much more unpredictable. Sure, he'd talk and talk and talk without you ever having to ask your opinion, but he'd also just… stop sometimes. He'd just stop writing notes, or eating food, or lose his sentence in the middle. And if you tried to get him to finish he'd just close up. He didn't like being told what to do, even if that was what he'd wanted to do from the beginning. It wasn't that Jeremy would stop, though. Its just that he sometimes forgot how to start.

So when he got home one day feeling decidedly empty after a doctors appointment (read: therapy), and threw himself down on his bed, he sure as hell wasn't expecting Jeremy to be kneeling in the middle of the room, perfectly still.

“Fuck.” His voice was higher than he cared to admit. “Fuck, Jeremy! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” came the mumbled reply. Jeremy wouldn't look at him, and the tear streaks on his cheeks gave Micheal a reason why.

“Why don't you tell me why you're here,” Micheal sat properly on his bed, facing Jeremy. He was used to strange behaviour by now but this was beyond what he had experienced. “You can sit up here.”

Jeremy just shook his head. 

“Okay,” Micheal struggled to think of another suggestion, but it was clear that Jeremy wasn't going to do anything alone. “Why don't I come down there?”

Jeremy shook his head again, vehemently. 

He could feel himself calming down from the initial shock, but he still felt decidedly spooked watching Jeremy kneel. He crossed his legs. “Okay, so you wanna play something? Watch a movie?”

“No. Thank you. Unless thats what you want me to do.” Jeremy shifted awkwardly in his position.

“Okay, you've gotta - you've gotta give me something here. I don't know what you want.”

“I’m apologising.” Jeremy eyes flashed up to meet his, and then back down again. Micheal only felt more bemused. Yes, he'd been angry at Jeremy. He'd been hurt by Jeremy in a way he couldn't explain to anyone. That didn't explain why Jeremy was kneeling on the floor, though.

When Micheal didn't reply, Jeremy spoke again. “The - it taught me. How to apologise properly. Waiting, and giving you control. And stuff.”

Micheal felt sick. “You don't have to do that. I’ve forgiven you.” He thought, then decided to ignore the thought that he already had control over Jeremy anyway, whether he wanted it or not. If Micheal suggested something - before today - Jeremy would do it. “How long have you been - how long have you been waiting? How long have you been sitting there?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I do need to do this, Michael. For you.”

“Jeremy, whatever that thing told you, this is not what you need to do. We've already established that whatever that thing told you was bull, haven't we?” He felt himself growing agitated, and he stood up.

“Please, Mikey. This is how you get someone to forgive you. I want you to forgive me.” Jeremy was in tears.

“I’ve got control right? You want to give me control. Then why don't - I order you to stand.” Micheal wasn't thinking about what Jeremy had just said. He wasn't thinking about it. He wasn’t.

And Jeremy stood. In the same way that Jeremy ate, or played games, or studied, or whatever Micheal told him to do. Only, Michael watched his face screw up as he moved and he wondered once again how long he'd been there. He had left the house early in the morning to shop with his Moms - against his will, obviously - before his appointment.

“What did the SQUIP make you do?” Micheal heard the question before he'd realised he'd spoken it. He still didn't know things. He just knew the aftermath, the consequences, and how to deal with them. He still wasn't certain whether he wanted to know. Jeremy glanced at him briefly before tugging the hem of his shirt, then dropping it as if it burned and taking up his first position.

“Different things,” he mumbled, and Micheal regretted the question.

“You want to apologise?” Micheal asked, his tone softer. “Okay. I can - okay. Well then I order you to play Mario Kart with me, but you gotta play as Waluigi. Then you're forgiven.”

He watched as Jeremy’s face fell. “I’m serious Micheal! You have to punish me. I deserve it.”

“Waluigi is really slow!” He replied, but then sat back down again. “Okay, I get it.”

He didn’t. He was too far out of his depth here, and he was suddenly struck by how strange this would look if anyone walked in. And how glad he was that no one had walked in before Jeremy had arrived. This was too weird. But Jeremy needed him to do something.

“Stand facing the corner. Put your hands together in front of you. Stay for thirty minutes. If you do this, you'll - I’ll forgive you.”

He watched as Jeremy visibly relaxed, and stumbled towards the corner as fast as he could. He watched as Jeremy stood, as stock still as when he'd arrived, and wondered how the hell this was his new normal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coping mechanisms are normal. Jeremy's, not so much.

Coping mechanisms were strange. Some people had yoga (Micheal didn't understand these people), some people had chocolate and some people had weed. Jeremy, though, had systematically punishing himself by putting himself under the control of his friends. Micheal wasn't entirely sure this was healthy.

It had started with that Saturday afternoon after therapy, Jeremy kneeling on the floor and standing in the corner. Micheal had sat aimlessly, waiting for the time to pass, still feeling sick to the stomach. He'd asked Jeremy if he wanted to stop again and again, watching his shoulders shake as he cried, but he'd refused until Micheal had called time. And then Jeremy had cried in Micheal’s arms, choking out apologies until his voice was hoarse and he fell still. And Micheal had just let it happen, wondering what the hell had triggered this. But he had felt safe in the knowledge that this was it. Jeremy had apologised. It was over.

Until it happened again.

They had paired up for a history project on the most important amendment to the Constitution before the 20th century. They'd agreed on the 13th, and promised to split the work. Micheal would research, Jeremy would write the speech, they'd create a PowerPoint and present together. It was a time honoured tradition that worked to their strengths and Micheal was so used to the routine, he hadn't worried about pressing Jeremy to make sure it was done before the due date.

It wasn't done, obviously. He'd turned up that morning and asked for speech so he could read over it at lunch for the presentation fifth period. And at the look of horror on Jeremy’s face, he'd just turned and headed to the computer lab to see what he could get done before school started. Sure, he was irritated, and he definitely needed this grade, but he wasn't angry. Not as angry as Jeremy seemed to think, anyway.

The presentation, as it turned out, was fine. Jeremy was good at improvising and Micheal had done a lot of research. And that’s all it had taken for Micheal to forget about the incident. It had turned out fine, and it was only 20% of the grade anyway. And Jeremy had been busy catching up on everything he'd let pass by while the SQUIP was taking over his brain. He was failing math and science. This project wasn't important.

Jeremy thought otherwise, it seemed. He had pulled himself away from the group to the bathroom at the end of the day - Micheal and Jeremy were part of a group now, somehow, and it only took a supercomputer to do it - and asked him when he’d like him to apologise. And he had frowned, and suggested right then, but hadn't expected him to drop to his knees on the bathroom floor, of all places. Horrified, and all of a sudden understanding, he'd told him to stand up. He'd told Jeremy it was a stupid project and it didn't matter anyway, they were both doing fine in history. Jeremy had just shaken his head and asked him again when he wanted him to apologise. And somehow, later that evening, he had found himself watching while Jeremy cleaned his room because standing in the corner is not enough, Michael.

After that, Micheal hadn't been so stupid to think that it was the end of it. He and Jeremy were at Jake’s house with Rich, attempting to play video games together. Jake’s taste was vastly different to Micheal’s own (Jeremy and Rich didn't mind, as usual) but they'd eventually, somehow, settled on Plants vs Zombies 2. If anyone had asked Micheal this time last year that he'd be playing Plants vs Zombies 2, of all things, which Rich Goranski and Jake Dillinger, he would have laughed, but here he was. 

And really, it had been too much. Jeremy had forgiven more quickly than Micheal could. It wasn't that he didn't like the pair, it was just that he couldn't get over the intense mistrust that hit him like a brick wall every time he let his guard down around them. Besides, they all had a certain bond that Micheal just would never achieve as he, you know, couldn't see their innermosts hopes and fears. As such, Micheal felt a little out of the loop. And so, he stood in Jake’s bathroom - because where else would he be when having issues with his friends - until he'd calmed down enough to return to the group.

And as soon as he did, his anxiety spiked again. Jeremy kneeled in the corner, his hands resting on his head. His head went blank as he watched Jeremy try to conceal the fact he was crying while Jake and Rich just observed him. Micheal’s heart felt white hot and he turned to the others, his voice coming out lower and more dangerous than he'd expected.

“What the fuck are you doing? You guys apologised for being dicks, you fucking got our trust, and what? You're back to being bullies?”

Rich looked agitated as he stood up. Micheal’s gaze fell to Rich’s hand scratching his other arm, but Jake spoke before Rich had the chance to say anything at all.

“Rich, can you please stay here with Jeremy? Me and Micheal are going to step outside.” Jake’s voice was devoid of emotion but Rich took the order and sat back down, eyes trained on Jeremy.

Micheal followed Jake to the kitchen, anger not subsiding but starting to understand what was going on. He was already regretting his words. Calling Rich a bully was a low blow. He might not trust him but he could see how hard he was trying to be better. Micheal idly noticed the stacks of plates around the sink, the pile of laundry on the floor and the massive, almost empty bag of pasta on the kitchen side.

“Rich - and Jeremy, I guess - were punished like this, Micheal. I don't get it either. I thought it was some weird kinky thing at first, man, but its not. It’s like- ” Jake ran a hand through his hair. He looked tired.

“Yeah I - I know,” Micheal’s voice was soft as he came to the realisation that everything he'd been doing with Jeremy, everything that had made him feel alienated and alone, Jake had been doing for Rich this entire time.

There was a silence as the two regarded each other. “He broke a glass,” Jake said in explanation, shifting uncomfortably, “and he begged me for an hour in the corner. I gave him fifteen minutes.”

“He asked you?”

“Rich found him kneeling in the kitchen. We’d stopped playing until you were back, obviously, and I’d asked him to get himself a drink. I don't know who he was going to ask for - well, you know - but Rich explained that I punished him sometimes, when he'd done something wrong. Not that - I don't want to, Micheal.” Jake’s tone turned defensive and Micheal felt his anger dissipate further.

“I get it. I don't understand it either. But I think Jeremy needs it.”

“I’ve been trying to figure a way to just… wean him off of it, you know? Like slowly decrease it. Not that I’m training him, or anything, I’m just trying to help.” Micheal watched Jake turn to look at the kitchen side, then back down again awkwardly. Micheal took a second to process what he'd said.

“How often? Like how often does Rich…” he trailed off. 

“Three to five times a week, maybe?” Micheal took a sharp intake of breath, and Jake furrowed his eyebrows.

“Twice. Ever.” He didn't need the question to give the answer.

“Then either Rich is so, so much more fucked, or you need to make sure that Jeremy isn't being punished by other people. People that he can’t trust.” Jake’s tone was deadly serious, and so confident that Micheal felt something click inside him. Why had he presumed that Jeremy had only asked Michael? Why had he assumed that Jeremy had a good enough headspace to be careful about who he wanted to trust?

“I’ve got to - okay. We should talk again.” Micheal turned away from Jake, the thought of Jeremy in the corner - Jake’s corner - taking over his mind. He had started this fucked up apology ritual for Jake, someone who by all accounts he shouldn't trust. So why wouldn't he have done this for anyone else?

He entered the living room to see Jeremy and Rich sitting silently on opposite ends of the couch. Rich, though Micheal can only spare him a glance, looks sick to the stomach but Jeremy is just bursting with nervous energy. When Jake followed behind Micheal, Jeremy stood up far too quickly. 

“I stayed for fifteen minutes, I swear! Rich was counting, and he said that since you'd said fifteen that I should only stay for fifteen and -” 

“I know.” Jake’s voice was light, purposefully so, and Micheal doesn't miss the way he jerks his head towards Micheal. He takes the lead and sits down with Jeremy. “I know, and I forgive you. For the glass.”

Sitting so close to Jeremy he can physically feel him deflate, letting go of the tension that he'd been holding onto. “Thank you.”

“We should go,” Micheal interjects after the silence becomes thick. “If thats okay with you, Jeremy.”

Jeremy nods, as Micheal knew he would. If Micheal had suggested staying around for the next three days, Jeremy would probably have nodded too.

And they leave, Micheal’s thoughts swimming with regret. Somehow, he'd manage to accept that Jeremy wanted these punishments, needed these punishments. But he hadn't realised just how much.


	3. Chapter 3

He’d already breeched the subject with a few people. 

He had, in a roundabout way, asked Christine about Jeremy’s unusual behaviour. And Christine had said that she’d ordered drinks for him before, and reminded him to take notes, and that he'd freaked when Christine had suggested a t-shirt for him when they'd gone shopping, and told him to try it on. This was all completely explainable behaviour. And when he'd asked if Jeremy had apologised, she shrugged and said probably, yeah, and that had been the end of it.

He’d also tried Mr Heere. He had taken offence, told Micheal that nothing my son does is weird, Micheal, and I don't beat my child, if that’s what you're insinuating. That had taken some explaining and one weird conversation afterwards with his Mom when he'd phoned her in the aftermath. Micheal had resolved not to ask again.

He’d gotten a little further with Brooke, who had shifted uncomfortably and not met his eyes. He suspected she’d thought it weird enough that Micheal had asked her to talk to him before school, and this was certainly a strange question. But Brooke reported the same as Christine, and told Micheal that after texting him a month ago about suggesting to Jeremy that he should do things, he'd been doing a lot better while Micheal wasn't around. And it was only when Micheal stood up to go that she rushed to admit that sometimes he wanted to do things for her, like carry her books or help her with her homework, and sometimes she let him. Micheal tried to find the line between a normal apology and Jeremy dropping to his knees and begging to be punished. He wasn't sure he could, and found himself angry with Brooke anyway.

So he'd made a plan. He liked planning things out, having things straight in his head, and this one felt foolproof.

As it turned out, it wasn’t.

It was a Friday night, and he was having dinner with his Moms and Jeremy. This wasn't unusual - Jeremy had been coming round for ‘sleepovers’ since they were both six - then Jeremy had practically lived around theirs for a while when his Mom left - but it was the first time they were all eating together since the incident.

His Moms knew to some extent what was going on. They knew that Jeremy hadn't treated Micheal well for a couple months, but seemed to believe that Jeremy had been on some kind of drug at the time, like Mr Heere. Micheal trusted both of his Moms more than anyone but explaining the SQUIP to them felt a little much. They'd probably think that he'd been given whatever drug Jeremy had supposedly taken.

So Micheal was on guard, to say the least. He'd continued the conversation he was having with Mamá and Jeremy about the algebra homework while setting the table and turned to Jeremy when they sat down to eat. “Why don't you start with the chicken? It’s my favourite.” If either of his parents thought that that was weird, they didn't say. And the conversation had been fine, until-

“I just think that if you commit to someone, then you don't just suddenly stop committing, just like that.” His Mom was referring to his cousin and her cheating boyfriend, but the comment felt rather pointed. He felt Jeremy tense beside him, and he rested his free hand on his knee in an attempt to calm him.

“I’m not saying what he did was right, but you've no idea what his side of the story is,” he replied in an attempt to end the conversation.

“He’s an addict, Micheal. If you choose to take something, then you should be prepared for the consequences.”

Micheal knew what was about to happen before Jeremy had a chance to stand up and bolt out of the room, but that didn't mean he could stop it. He hastily stood up. “He was sick earlier,” he said weakly and followed him out of the room.

He found Jeremy in Micheal’s bathroom in the basement, on his knees and vomiting into the toilet, muttering something every time he stopped for breath. He figured it was a reaction to the stress and anxiety, and left to grab a cup from the kitchen to fill with water for once he was finished. He couldn't stand sick and he wasn't going to do Jeremy any favours by standing over him and then probably throwing up over him as well, like some kind of twisted waterfall.

Jeremy still sitting by the toilet when he returned, but Micheal couldn't hear the sounds of him throwing up. He took this to mean that it was safe to enter. He didn't expect to see Jeremy with his fingers down his throat, trying to throw up again.

“What - why?” Micheal was just bemused. This was nothing like what he'd seen before. Jeremy wasn't - this wasn't something Jeremy did.

“Get it out,” Jeremy almost growled around his fingers, repeating it like a twisted mantra. “Get it out, get it out, get it out.”

It clicked. “Stop.” He didn't like ordering Jeremy, he didn't like it at all, but it always worked. “Jeremy, I said stop.”

Jeremy froze, then took his fingers out of his mouth. He rested back in his kneeling position and wiped his hand on his jeans.

“That’s not going to work. The SQUIP - it isn't in your stomach. It’s in your brain.” His voice was a lot more shaky than he would have liked. “So I forbid you from doing that again.”

Jeremy just nodded. From the angle that Micheal could see, he just looked blank.

“We don't have to go back up again. I’ll just go up and say you’re sick.” There was no response. “Don’t do - just sit there and don't move until I come back.”

Micheal felt sick to his stomach as he trudged back up the stairs. He was the one giving orders. He was manipulating Jeremy, and it felt so decidedly wrong. 

“He’s sick,” he confirmed when he walked back into the dining room. His voice was flat and he couldn't help the anger that rose up in him when he looked at his parents. Everything was fine until they'd started talking.

“I’ll call Mr Heere,” His Mom stood up.

“He’s at work. He’ll be fine, he's not got a temperature or anything.” His answer was too quick, too enthusiastic, but she sat back down again anyway. And he shot down their responses that they should come and check on him because he’ll be fine Mom, we’re not kids anymore, even though he felt entirely helpless and wanted nothing more than an adult to come and tell him what to do.

Jeremy was, predictably, exactly where he left him. With less adrenaline than before he noticed the smell of the vomit and sighed as he realised he had left Jeremy sitting over a toilet full of sick and not allowed to do anything about it.

“Will you come into the bedroom with me?” His suggestion received a nod and Jeremy stood, tears falling silently down his face. Micheal pushed past him to flush the toilet, nodding that he should enter the room, and flushed the toilet. His eyes fell upon the glass from earlier and he grabbed that too. He turned to see Jeremy sinking into a kneeling position. Not now. He couldn't deal with this now.

“Would you like to sit on the bed?” Jeremy shook his head silently and Micheal sighed. He didn't know how to deal with this. “Jeremy, sit on the bed.”

This time Jeremy did, and Michael sat next to him. He handed him the glass of water. “If you're thirsty, I would like you to drink this.” 

There was a period of silence, punctuated only by Jeremy’s hiccuping sobs. Micheal put his arm around his shoulders and rubbed circles on his arm.

“Tell me how you're feeling.”

“I want you to punish me. I need you to hurt me.” Jeremy’s voice was hoarse, and Micheal’s sharp intake of breath was much louder than Jeremy’s whisper. There was a difference between standing in a corner for a while - not that that wasn't fucking weird - and actual pain.

“Explain to me how it hurt you.” 

Jeremy ran his fingers along the hem of his shirt. He seemed to make a decision and leaned over to place the glass down. He lifted his shirt above his head, and pulled it off completely.

It was like - well Micheal frankly had no idea what it was. Somewhere between someone struck by lightning and the tracks of circuit boards - pink, raised lines up and down his arms and back. He had known that Jeremy had been hurt but Jesus, that was different to seeing it. 

“Does it still hurt?” His question came out flat, and when Jeremy stayed silent, he took a deep breath. “Jeremy, answer me, is it still painful?”

“Yes, but only when I move, or lean on it, or something.”

Michael laughed mirthlessly. “Okay.”

“Now, will you do it?” Jeremy didn't move from his position on the bed but Micheal could tell he was barely holding himself still. 

“Corner, thirty minutes. I’m going out for five minutes max, Jerm, but I’ll be back.”

It was a direct order, and Jeremy wouldn't resist a direct order when he was being punished. Micheal watched, feeling overwhelmingly flat, as Jeremy almost threw himself across the room. He was doing this to his friend. He was punishing him, like some little kid.

He left the room, grabbing his phone as he left. He shut the door behind him, and settled on the stairs. He couldn't just sit there and watch, not again.

He’d had a plan, for the next time it happened. Jeremy’s punishment was going to be that he had to explain who else he was receiving punishments from, and, if he could swing it, get him to stop. He couldn't do that now. He was far too emotionless. He didn't know what he'd do if he let himself start asking.

So he texted Jake, telling him to get over here as soon as possible. He doubted that it would work but he soon got a reply assuring him both he and Rich would arrive in ten minutes, max. And that was enough for Micheal to breathe again, feel something other than flat. Jake would know what to do. He didn't have to hurt Jeremy. 

So he entered the room again, eyes on Jeremy, who wasn't crying this time. He had put his hands on his head without Micheal telling him to do anything like that, and was more still than Micheal had seen him in a while.

“Are you okay? I’m going out again, and when I get back, i’ll have Rich and Jake back with me,” Jeremy nodded almost imperceptibly and Micheal took that as his cue to leave again. 

He walked upstairs, avoiding his parents and sliding out of the front door. He settled on the porch, waiting for Jake and Rich. Jake would know what to do. Jesus, Micheal had no idea what to do. He had no idea how to make this right. His therapist’s voice circled around his head. You should consider that what you do for others, Micheal, isn't always the best thing for yourself.

He stood when Jake’s car approached, the feeling of relief almost overwhelming as they approached. Jake had a hard look on his face, Rich was unreadable, and Micheal said nothing as he lead them down back to the basement, somehow still avoiding his Moms. 

“We’re back,” Micheal said unnecessarily to the figure in the corner. 

“How long left?” Jake’s voice was low.

Micheal shrugged. “Fifteen minutes.”

“What did he do?”

Micheal just shook his head. “He asked for a punishment. And he asked to be hurt.”

“So, you hurt him.”

A laugh fell out of his mouth before he had the chance to catch it. “I can’t hurt him, Jake.”

“Then he will punish himself. And you wont be able to stop him,” Rich spoke for the first time. He wouldn't meet Micheal’s eyes and when Jake put a hand on his arm, this made Micheal laugh harder.

“This is so fucked up,” he choked out, almost unable to breath he was laughing so hard. He didn't find this funny. He didn’t. He just couldn't stop. 

“I need you to calm down,” Jake grabbed his arms. Micheal felt himself start to hyperventilate.

“He wants - Jeremy - I can’t,” Jake was shaking him and the room was spinning and Micheal had no idea how to make it stop stop stop stop stop stop stop and the voices were loud loud loud loud loud and someone was screaming in his ear and maybe he deserved to be punished too because he couldn't even do this one thing for his friend and he couldn't breathe why the hell couldn't he breathe - 

And it was over. He was on the ground. His face stung and the room was clear and Rich was far too close. And Jake’s voice sounded like he was in a tunnel but he could breathe and maybe that was enough, for now. 

He pulled his knees closer to him, clarity slowly returning. He wasn't paying enough attention too see Rich fall back on his knees, head down, apologising for what he'd done. He couldn't see Jeremy twitching in the corner, still not turning around and wishing that he could. He missed the way Jake ran his hand over Rich’s head, trying to soothe him with words and eventually giving up and sending him to kneel by Micheal’s bed. He didn't see Jake tell Jeremy to crawl as the last part of the punishment but felt his warmth as he wrapped his arms around his neck. And thats where they stayed, Micheal in Jeremy’s arms and apologies falling from their lips until they both fell still, quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

“So, say your friend is stuck in…” Micheal paused, looking up to glance at Dr Lex, “self destructive behaviours.”

He stopped. It was hard to describe what had happened to Jeremy without actually explaining it, and his therapist would probably deduce that he was delusional if he tried to explain the SQUIP. But she just watched him, so he continued.

“And he wants - needs - you to help. And its better that you help than anyone else, because you know him best. What do you do?”

She looked back at him, her face neutral. “I think you're going to have to give me a little more than that, Micheal.”

He slumped backwards, frustrated, then met her eyes again. “He was in an abusive relationship. He needs me to - he needs - he, um…”

“Remember how we talked about autonomy? About not just letting things happen to you because others want them to?” Her voice was gentle. “If you don't consent to something like that-”

“Its not sexual,” he blurted, face reddening. “That’s not - not what I meant.”

“Okay,” she replied easily.

“So what do I do?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “I don't think I have enough information, but I understand if you can’t tell me. Why doesn't he try addressing the cause?”

 

The next time Jeremy threw himself to the floor, Micheal sank to the ground alongside him. They had just returned from school, and Micheal hadn't even had a chance to put his bag down. He ran his hand along the strap of the backpack and then took it off his back.

“What did you do?”

“I hurt everyone. Isn't that enough?” His voice was sullen, and almost reminded Micheal of a child who'd been told to go and sit on the naughty step. There was a second where Micheal considered what Jeremy himself thought about what he was doing. He refocused on the situation at hand.

“When?”

“When I had the SQUIP.”

Micheal didn't let himself frown, and instead nodded. “Stay there, but sit with your legs crossed. And put your hands on your knees.”

He never felt very confident when giving orders. Jake always sounded so in control. He wondered if Jeremy preferred being punished by Jake. And then he shook his head, dispelling the thought. Weird jealousy was not a path he wanted to go down. 

As Jeremy shifted, he spoke again. “I want you to describe your daily routine. The daily routine from when you had the SQUIP.”

Jeremy didn't react, and there was a second where Micheal wondered if he'd gone too far. Then he almost laughed - Jeremy had wanted him to hit him, for gods sake. 

“I’d wake up at six. I didn't need an alarm clock, he'd wake me up. Breakfast, then working out.” His voice was hard but when he met Micheal’s eyes, he almost smiled. “I haven't kept that up. I’d shower, then do my exercises-”

“More?” Micheal cut in, then clarified when Jeremy frowned, “More exercise?”

“Exercises. Like, mental stuff.” Micheal watched as Jeremy stiffened, and decided not to let it go. Addressing the causes, and all that.

“Show me.”

Jeremy just nodded, standing up and walking to the bathroom. Micheal followed and watched as Jeremy stared into the mirror, his hands gripping the edges of the sink below. He met Micheal’s eyes in the mirror and when Micheal nodded, began to speak.

“I’m useless. I harm everyone around me, and I do not deserve to be cool because I cannot even obey simple orders. I cannot take simple punishments, because I am weak. I am lucky that the SQUIP is guiding me. I do not deserve their help. If I do not listen then I will end up like my useless father. Without help, I am nothing. I can do nothing alone, so there is no point in trying.” Jeremy spoke as though he was reciting lines for a play, voice slightly too loud and inflection on all the right words. Micheal watched in morbid fascination.

“Did he tell you exactly what to say?”

Jeremy shrugged. “At first.”

Micheal let the implications of that wash over him, then spoke before he could stop himself. “Do you still do it? Tell me the truth.”

“The morning ones. Not the evening.”

“Look in the mirror and say something nice.”

Jeremy shifted and avoided his gaze in the reflection. “My shirt. It’s good. Wrinkled. But good.”

“Something else,” Micheal demanded.

“I like my eyes,” Jeremy said this as if it was a guilty admission. There was a silence, and when Micheal refocused he noticed Jeremy’s panicked eyes on his own.

“That was good.” It was an attempt to reassure and Micheal figured it had worked by the fact that Jeremy lost eye contact once again. “We can sit down again, if you want?”

“It’s over?”

“It’s over.” Micheal confirmed. “I’m going to sit down, and get that trig homework done. If you want to join.”

Jeremy nodded, inexplicably wiping at his mouth, and following Micheal into his room. There was a silence, not comfortable but not uncomfortable, either. They both sat against the bed and took out their books. And Micheal was struck with how the familiar action juxtaposed with what had just happened.

“It’s good to tell you things,” Jeremy said suddenly. His textbook was unopened but he was staring at it as if it could tell him the answers to any question. 

“I’m glad you feel that way, Jere,” he replied.

“I can’t tell people what it was like. I couldn't see a shrink, or anything like that. I couldn't explain it. And Dad gets so angry when I talk about it. Not at me, just about the situation. You know?”

Micheal turned to Jeremy, and wondered when Jeremy had become ready to talk about the situation, and why he hadn't noticed.

“I get it. I’m - well, I’m seeing someone. About things. And I tried to explain it. It was impossible.” There was a pause. “Are you - I need you to tell me, Jeremy. Is anyone else punishing you?”

“No. I didn't mean for Jake to get involved, either. It was just kind of overwhelming, and I knew that Rich would know what I needed to do, and then when Jake come in he knew and I figured since you were there I was safe.”

Micheal knew that the relief was evident on his face. “And Rich said that if I didn't hurt you, that-”

“I’m not hurting myself. I don't do that.” Jeremy’s hands were dancing along the side of his book.

They both looked down down again. There was a second where Micheal decided whether to ask the question about whether he punished himself in other ways, but Jeremy seemed to sense the question.

“Sometimes I don't do stuff. Like homework. Or like, the washing up. So I get detention, or whatever.”

“That makes sense.” Micheal hadn't noticed that. 

“I was expecting you to be harsher.” Jeremy spoke quickly, and Micheal felt himself stiffen. Jake’s calm voice reverberated around his skull.

“Do you want me to be?”

“No. I don't think so, anyway. Its just because you have a right to be.”

“No one has a right to hurt you, Jere,” he grabbed Jeremy’s hand, which shook in his own. “I don't do it for myself. It’s not about me.”

Jeremy turned to him, confusion evident. And then his face fell, and he pushed himself backwards. “Fuck. Fuck, Micheal, I’ve been the worst. I’ve been forcing you to do this, even though its really fucking fucked, and-” Micheal turned and grabbed his arms, trying to calm him down.

“Hey. I’m not saying that this is fun for me, but if it helps, I don't mind.” Jeremy was still shaking his head, and Micheal decided to take a different tac. “How much do you care about Bob Marley? The origins of animal crossing? Or deforestation?”

“Deforestation is an important issue!” Jeremy’s voice was too high and his anxiety was clear.

“Yeah, but how much time do you want to spend hearing about it? Like if you weren't friends with me?”

Jeremy just looked at him. “I like hearing you talk about things. You shouldn't feel bad about that.”

“You’re missing the point. You listen to me because I’m your friend, even when I’m boring you. Sometimes you do things for people because you love them, and thats enough.” He pulled Jeremy into the right position so they were looking at each other. “I can - I will do this for as long as you want me to. I’d much rather you were here with me than with anyone else.”

Jeremy just nodded, but the way he kept his eyes on Micheal was enough. And Micheal was struck by how long it had been since they'd had an important conversation. Sure they had talked about how they hated Mr Martin, or Jeremy and his Dad’s attempts at father-son bonding and whether Rory Gilmore was actually a kind person, but that didn't mean they'd talk. One of them would freeze or change the subject and Micheal, for the first time, felt like maybe, things could go back to normal.

Micheal and Jeremy had long been seen by others as symbiotic. Micheal and Jeremy (never, ever, Jeremy and Micheal) had come as a pair for as long as anyone could remember. When Micheal visited his relatives, awkward questions about Jeremy would follow awkward questions about school. Jeremy had two drawers in Micheal’s basement, Micheal’s Mom had been the one to teach Jeremy how to use a washing machine when his mother left, and Micheal couldn't think of a single group project they hadn't worked together on when in the same class. It was one of the byproducts of only having one real friend. 

And then everything had changed. They had been separated and Micheal and Jeremy had become Micheal. Or Jeremy, depending on your point of view.

But, slowly, things were getting better. Apologies had been said, and today, oddly enough, apologies were enough.


End file.
